Status Quo Ante Bellum
by Novelist Pup
Summary: AU: Elizaveta clearly despised everything vaguely relating to Gilbert of the Pretend Prussian Race--except for his younger brother, who was the only exception. It did not help that Gilbert existed. :Austria/Hungary/Prussia


**Status Quo Ante Bellum**

Moar for the Universitalia AUverse. :D Austria/Hungary is so beautiful, and adding in Prussia makes it an actual likeable math equation. :D

**Disclaimed.**

* * *

Elizaveta clearly despised her boyfriend's best friend and everything vaguely related to him (except for his younger brother, Ludwig, because he was adorable in a five-foot-eleven-tall muscular kind of way and she couldn't help but want to _touch his hair_ because it was so perfectly styled in every way possible).

Unfortunately, it was also clear that the feelings were not well reciprocated, because Gilbert just kept _existing_. And he _existed_ near her!

"Smile for the camera," the Prussian cooed evilly, grinning toothily. He snapped a picture of her scowling face, snickering with sinister intent. "Now you can be a part of my hit paper, _The Gilbo Gossip_. Can't you imagine the headline?" He slowly ran his hand through the air, grinning. "'_Psycho Hungarian Bitch on PMS—People Die in the Crossfire_,' now doesn't _that_ sound beautiful?"

"I'm seriously going to kill you in your sleep, Weillschmidt." Elizaveta replied honestly. After all, honesty _was_ the best policy, even when dealing with _people_ like Gilbert.

"_Oooh_, I'm absolutely terrified." She hated his mocking _grin_ too. A smile that creepy should be truly illegal. "Should I click my heels together three times and wish for home?"

Elizaveta looked down at her unfinished thesis paper instead of replying to Gilbert of the Pretend Race. She didn't know why he called himself Prussian, when he was just as German as his younger brother—but, she never questioned it, because then that would include having to _talk_ to the freak. An actual reasonable conversation, just imagine the horror!

She hated her major, to tell the truth. This was the umpteenth time she had thought this as she erased some penciled words that made no true sense. The Hungarian woman could not understand what insanity drove her to choose _Telecommunication_ as her university major, especially when she'd much rather do fashion design or culinary arts.

(Her fashion was _fabulous_, in the least. She used to get this Italian kid in her neighborhood to model for her, even though he was a guy. And now he was gay with her biggest enemy's brother—her life's purpose is clearly fulfilled.)

Elizaveta snuck a look at Gilbert, who was coursing through his digital camera while humming some inane German war song underneath his breath. _No_, her life was not complete, as the prick was still alive and kicking, and Roderich had not married her.

"Where is Roderich, anyway?" Gilbert asked suddenly, frowning. He clicked his tongue, pressing another button on his camera. "Did you manage to mess up on the directions to the _courtyard_ somehow? Lo_ser_."

"First off, I don't give wrong directions, _you do_," Elizaveta replied. Oh yes, she still remembered the cruise to Cancun and how they ended up in Puerto Rico because _Gilbert_ wanted to be a smartass and give the ship captain the wrong map. Ludwig and Roderich refuse to let him even _drive_ now. "Secondly, how the he—ck…" She coughed into her fist. A real lady does not use profanity unnecessarily. "…did you know what I was thinking?"

Gilbert rolled his evil red eyes. "Because you're like an open book, _darling_," he retorted sarcastically. "I'm not reading your mind as much as I'm just turning the page."

Her pencil was beginning to snap in her palm.

The frying pan was _still at home_, damn it. Elizaveta was truly disappointed that she left it, because Roderich said it looked kind of _weird_ for some random Hungarian woman to be walking around wielding a frying pan. He had a point, though.

"I hope you get hit by a speeding Japanese car," she said instead of exposing her true thoughts. "And then you die."

"It's always death with you, Psycho Hungarian Bitch," Gilbert replied with a pronounced eye-roll. Suddenly, the inane war song that he was previously humming blasted from his pocket, and he pulled out his sinisterly black cellular phone with a flamboyant flair. "Prussia, speaking."

"Prussia is dead, Gilbert." Elizaveta said, rolling her _own_ eyes. "Give it _up_, freak."

"Hey, how about _you_ stay over there and stop trying to ruin my life because of your premenstrual syndrome?" the platinum-haired man retorted, smiling with a small twitch. He perked up, listening closely to the phone. "What? Oh, no, your psycho girlfriend is accusing me of not being Prussian—I am _so_ Prussian! It _is_ a real place! Oh my God, you've been hanging around West, haven't you?" He narrowed his eyes dangerously.

Oh, _Roderich_. There was truly no measure to how much Elivazeta adored that man, even though he was quite the questionably homosexual man, very self-centered, and it made her slightly irked that he had a "beauty spot" and she didn't. She was beautiful too, right? (Besides, it looked like a mole to her, and it was really distracting when her boyfriend was giving her one of his all-knowing speeches, because she usually believed the "beauty spot" was talking instead.)

"…courtyard," and Gilbert was still talking with that annoying tone of voice of his. God, she wanted to _mutilate_ him, purely for being alive. (And, maybe so she could kidnap his younger brother—that _adorable_ hunk of man.) "No, we are _not_ in the cafeteria, _stupid_."

"Don't call my boyfriend stupid," Elizaveta snapped, pointing her eraser at him in a threatening manner.

"'_Don't call mah boyfrrrriend stupiiid_,'" Gilbert mimicked, over exaggerating as many words as possibly could've while still managing to piss off the Hungarian woman. "You are so on PMS—your _girlfriend_, Roderich. Not you." He snickered, covering his mouth. "Silly mortal."

"Is he on his way or _not_?" Elizaveta demanded, rolling her brown eyes. "You never stay on topic, freak."

Gilbert snorted. "And _you_ never shut your eternally bitching mouth. It's like, '_Ó Gilbert, miért nem fogsz szeress_?'" he said in near perfect Hungarian, successfully getting a book smashed into his face. "…_ow_?"

"I hate you _so hard_," Elizaveta said with a deceptive calm, retrieving her book and wiping off the blood daintily. She paid a _lot_ of money for this one textbook—Gilbert wasn't even worth half.

The red-eyed man rubbed his nose, where a few slivers of blood slipped out. "Roderich!" he cried into the phone, obviously offended. "Your gorilla—I mean, _girlfriend_—just slammed a book into my face! Can't you euthanize her now?"

"No," a voice that practically _dripped_ high class and aristocracy replied. Roderich sat down next to the brown-haired woman, snapping his new phone shut with a flick of the wrist.

(She never did find out what happened to his other one, the one with the QWERTY keyboard and unlimited day-by-day calling. It was really quite nice.)

"Roderich, my best friend!" Gilbert greeted exuberantly, as though he did not spend a good portion of his life making Elizaveta's life a living hell. "Finally, you found us!"

"Obviously, Gilbert." The Austrian man pressed his lips to Elizaveta's cheek, cracking a small smile. "I believe I hate my musical theory course," he said.

"Or something," she replied, grinning. Her boyfriend was the best metrosexual man anyone could ever ask for—without getting Francis, of course. "Something about Beethoven?"

"But of course!" Roderich sniffed in offense, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. "Sometimes I believe everyone is going for one big conspiracy theory with Ludwig, because everybody I associate with is under the impression that Beethoven was German. He was not, since he was Austrian."

"Not that I agree with West, since he's totally stupid," Gilbert interjected, observing his fingernails with a bored expression. "But, Beethoven was _totally_ German. Grandpa named West _after_ Beethoven, because he was a famous German!"

"Who were you named after?" Elivazeta asked despite herself. She really did want to know who would name their kid _Gilbert Weillschmidt_ and expect him to grow up and not become a complete asshole. "Some Prussian guy that stopped existing after World War Two, just like _Prussia_?"

Gilbert threw her a dirty look. "Actually, _Psycho Hungarian Bitch_," he replied snippily. "My name is totally original and awesome, just like me."

"So your grandfather must've pulled it out of his a—" Roderich placed his hand over her mouth, rolling his eyes in his prissy kind of way.

"If you use profanity," he started. Oh dear, _his mole_ was talking. "You'll only be lowering yourself to his level. And, believe me when I say this, you don't _want_ to be at his level. Then you'll be a pervert."

"I am _not_ a pervert!" Gilbert retorted, huffing. "I'm just very active in my community's affairs."

"You are banned from at _least_ three buildings because you keep looking through their windows. You snapped pictures of your brother while he was naked—"

The Prussian snorted, waving a hand to catch Roderich's attention. "It wasn't like he was _alone_!" he replied as though it made him look better as a person. It didn't. "I mean, West never tells me anything! How was I supposed to know he was gay and in a relationship with his Italian friend?"

"First," Elizaveta commented, pointing at him accusingly. "That's not even an _okay_ excuse—you were _there_ on the _field_ when Feliciano proclaimed his homolove to Ludwig. _Everybody_ was there, and if they weren't there, they were watching it on television. _Stupid_." She held up two fingers, frowning. "Second, why are you even _thinking_ of taking pictures of your brother while he's naked?"

"I wanted to know his fitness secrets?" Gilbert tried, and then he cocked an eyebrow. "Wait, why am I replying to _you_? You're just a crazy European chick who's trying to get between me and Roderich!" It was sad because he was oddly serious.

"We are _over_, Gilbert," Roderich replied, tilting his nose in the air in such an uppity way that it was almost belittling to look at.

Elizaveta smiled. "He's not gay with you anymore," she said happily, because his pain was the secondary source of her joy. (The first source was the smiling faces of all of her friends, because she could love so hard when she needed to.) "He actually found taste."

Gilbert sputtered for a moment, his red eyes wide. He probably couldn't _imagine_ why she would make such a comment, as he was overly confident (just like Roderich) and kind of a priss (much like Roderich).

(Opposites attract, much?)

"If _you_ are considered _taste_," the Prussian finally spoke, smirking sinisterly. "Then, apparently dear Roderich here needs to get a better prescription, because his glasses must be cracked at this point." He snapped a picture of her face suddenly, grinning. "_Zing_, Psycho Hungarian Bitch!"

Roderich crossed his legs and checked his watch. "Do you even know her name?" he asked calmly, resting his chin on the back of his hand.

"Sure I do—Psycho Hungarian Bitch on Eternal PMS," Gilbert replied, snickering at the picture he must've captured.

Elizaveta was seriously going to _murder_ him with a _hacksaw_ in his _sleep_. The emphasis is necessary, believe her. Besides, it's not like anyone would miss him, since he's always "invading their vital regions" and taking pictures of them through their windows and sometimes their air vents. Well, Francis actually _likes_ that kind of stuff, so maybe he'll miss the freak—but everyone else would be so much happier. Even Ludwig, maybe.

"Does your younger brother love you?" she asked Gilbert suddenly, smiling.

Gilbert blinked, raising a slow eyebrow. "Um," he ran his fingers through his short-cut platinum hair. "…I…guess? I mean, he kicked me out of his flat because I was useless or something—and I'm still _offended_ about how Arthur and The Junkyard Gang had to get all up in our family stuff, like me moving out was a grand affair." He looked disgusted. "And _then_ he let Roderich move in, adding insult to injury! What the heck was West thinking?"

"Perhaps that he wanted an actually _sensible _flat mate that wasn't his voyeuristic older brother with psychotic tendencies?" Roderich offered, pushing his glasses higher upon the bridge of his nose.

Elizaveta will marry him one day (but, she winced because now she sounded kind of like Natalia, the Belarusian girl who apparently was in an obsessive kind of love with her crazy older brother, Ivan). He was just so _perfect_, so she could ignore his eminent homosexuality.

The Prussian rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in disdain. "So, living with an anal Austrian pianist that believes even the dirt is not good enough for his presence is an _upgrade_?"

"Yes." Roderich sneered at the ground. "And the dirt _isn't_ good enough for my presence, as it does nothing but make things _dirty_." He faked a gag, covering his mouth.

The Hungarian woman poked at his pale white cheek, smiling. "You are _so gay_," she said fondly.

"Not with you, of course," Roderich replied, obviously trying to resist his smile. That was okay, though, his being such an aristocratic stick in the mud that he couldn't afford to express any emotion but disgust and disdain. And, for the record, he had those two expressions down to a _T_—or, better yet, the entire _alphabet_.

Gilbert crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. "Gay," he commented offhandedly.

"Actually, _idiot_," Elizaveta stated, her smile twitching. "It _isn't_ gay—you are."

"Am not!" he replied in a whining tone. And, so, he began the immature cycle that responsible adults like herself should have more sense than actually _participating_ in.

"Are too!"

"Don't continue," Roderich said, holding up a hand and commanding the silence just like that. "Just…_no_." He leaned back in his seat, checking his watch again. "Are you done with your thesis yet?"

Thesis…? Elizaveta looked down at her paper. It was mostly blank, with some verifiable double-talk about Telecommunication and how Hungary makes it awesome. "Um." She added a period to the last sentence. "Of course." Her excuse? Love was a great reason for irresponsibility! Just look at that Swedish guy, Berwald—he threw the _championship ice hockey game_ for love.

"Then, let us go," her bespectacled boyfriend said, standing up and brushing off his backside like the chair carried vernacular diseases and he needed to be tested, ASAP. Elizaveta stood up as well, placing her paper in her knapsack and tossing some loose locks of hair over her shoulder. Roderich held out his arm like a true gentleman, and she looped hers within it with a grin.

It was an actual beautiful day, she was able to note as they walked farther away from the existence that was Power Ranger Blue: Teutonic Knight (also known as Gilbert Weillschimdt). It was easier to appreciate the sun and the white clouds that drifted in slow wisps and the plethora of ethnically diverse university students that hung about them as well. She had to smile now, as she was so much happier.

A light flashed in her eyes. "Hungarian Godzilla Smiles—Austrian Wannabe-Beethoven's Death is Imminent!" Gilbert cried, snapping another picture. He smiled widely, evilly, _whatever_ adjective was most appropriate. "That's the newest headline—even _more_ awesome than before, right? _Right_?"

Elizaveta scowled, tightening her hold on Roderich's arm.

Hmph. There went her happiness.

* * *

Okay. It should've been more suspicious than usual when Ludwig sent her a text message asking where his brother was located, as he had not received any complaints in the past two hours.

"I don't know," she said, deciding to call him back instead of texting. "I mean, I kind of don't _look_ for him, sweetie."

"Oh," Ludwig's ridiculously deep voice sounded worried. Elizaveta wanted to _hug_ him so much. "I'm sorry about this, Elizaveta—but, I wanted to tell him thanks for the tickets."

Elizaveta froze. "He…he _gave_ you something?" she asked, eyes wide. "From the goodness—um, well, _whatever_ of his heart?"

"That's…that's basically what I said," Ludwig admitted, sounding rather disconcerted as well.

"What are these tickets to? _Hell_? Because you know he's a direct descendent of Satan, right?"

The German man chuckled lowly. "He's my older brother, too," he replied.

Oh, the darling could _never_ be a spawn of the devil. Ludwig was too much of a cute softy, especially for sweetheart Italians and pretty-boy Japanese men. If you ignore his muscles and height and rather intimidating stature, he's like a big teddy-bear.

(Unlike his brother, whom of which sometimes looked like a bear when he got especially angry.)

"—tickets for a concert_,_" Ludwig was still talking, so Elizaveta forced herself to stop thinking about St. Maria's Asshole and focused on his _super deep_ voice instead. "Although, he wouldn't tell me what the concert was for, and Roderich had musical stuff to do, so I couldn't ask him."

"…" Elizaveta held her tongue. Maybe Gilbert _was_ on to something when he said that his younger brother had muscles for brains and Wurst for intelligence. "…You…you don't _take_ things from your brother, Ludwig. That's a very bad thing to do."

"I didn't take it, though, since he _gave_—"

"That's even _worse_!" she insisted, and then she sighed. "Okay, well, maybe I'm thinking too hard. Since I hate his existence and all."

"I noticed." Ludwig deadpanned. His voice was beginning to crackle over the line, so he must've been moving around into a place with slightly worse reception. "He told me to take a date, and everything. But, I don't know if Feliciano wants to go to a piano concert."

Aww. _Aww_. The Hungarian girl had to choke back the sound, as it was just so _sweet_ how the big guy wanted to be such a _good_ boyfriend (even if he didn't call his relationship with Feliciano that—but, whatever, since everyone and _their mom_ knew they were boyfriends).

(If she ever left Roderich—which would never happen, _ever_—then she automatically knew that she would so be making the moves on his flat mate, even if he _is_ taken and very, very cute in his new gay relationship.) (It wasn't like she didn't have experiences with gay men going straight—Roderich was very serious when he told Gilbert that they were over.)

"I'm sure Feliciano would love it either way," she finally said, smiling and leaning a side of her hips against the kitchen counter. "You should definitely take him." Double-meaning? Very yes.

"Oh, okay," Ludwig replied, sounding oddly subdued and nervous. "If you say so—"

"Totally." Elizaveta will kidnap him one day, because he was just _too cute_. (For the record, though, he was not always this way. He used to be a brat when he was younger, and Elizaveta used to want to push him down the stairs. But, as only time could describe; the mini-Satan/Gilbert grew up, matured, and found a couple of real, honest-to-God friends. She was really happy for him.)

"Okay. Huh!" There was a beep. "I'm sorry, Elizaveta, but someone's calling me on the other line. Can I—?"

"I'll call you back, sweetheart," the older woman said, grinning even though the German couldn't see it. "Have fun!"

"Thank you." The line went dead with a crackle, and Elizaveta snapped her phone closed with a motion she had learned from her boyfriend. She'll be just as upper-class and anal as he is if she keeps this up!

* * *

A few hours later, there was still no hearing of the psycho or his digital camera.

It was strange. What was Gilbert planning? Elizaveta tapped at her chin, pulling out a frying pan so she could prepare her dinner.

If the Prussian (still a pretend race) was on to something, then he was doing kind of a bad job of it. For one, he didn't give _anyone_ presents out of the blue. Not even his brother. When he did, people got hurt, and it was never a pretty sight. Secondly, he was usually in the locality of the campus of this ridiculously large university, and there was always a way to find out _where_ he was, be it by complaints or by cries of pain, Gilbert was usually found.

Until _now_.

Hmm. Was she going to die? They _did_ have a rivalry more heated than usual ones, especially since she kind of stole his man and he is really a bigger jackass than usual towards her.

"Whatever," she said with a huff, puffing out her cheeks as she searched her cabinets for food-related materials, still wielding her frying pan for reasons that were all related to habit. "He can't do anything to me—he can't even get into my flat!" Only _Roderich_ had a key to here, even though he moved out because living with a woman was apparently ungentlemanly and rather uncouth.

He's so gay; it's sometimes kind of funny in Elizaveta's opinion.

But, in the most anticlimactic motion virtually possible, there was a tap at her shoulder.

Needless to say, she freaked out like any self-respecting woman would.

"Ah!" she yelped, swinging her frying pan around. And, with the reverberating sound of metal smacking muscle, a body obviously fell over. In true Hungarian spirit, she hit her target with _perfect_ precision! "W-what?" the woman gasped, holding a hand to her heart.

"My _God_, woman," her target rasped, stumbling up and holding a hand to his face and moving his jaw around. "You _psycho Hungarian bitch_!"

That annoying voice, that obnoxious platinum hair, those creepy-as-hell red eyes—it could only be _one person_. "…_Gilbert_?" Elizaveta spoke, furrowing his eyebrow. "Gilbert? _Gilbert_?"

"I know I'm awesome, but spare me the repetition of my name, since I'm sure Roderich says it all the time when he's trying to sex you up, but it ends up you _aren't me_." Gilbert snorted elaborately, tilting his head to the side and still rubbing his face. "Here's a better topic for you: You just _hit me with a frying pan_." He sounded offended.

Elizaveta didn't know why. "Actually, the headline would be," she mimicked his sarcastic move of running his hand through the air. "_'Voyeuristic Pervert of Pretend Race Breaks into University Student's Flat—Gets What's Been Coming to Him_,' now _that_ is a beautiful headline."

"Psycho." Gilbert moved his jaw in semi-circles, gagging. "What is your _problem_? Ow!"

"Why are you in my _flat_?" Elizaveta asked instead, crossing her arms while still holding on tightly to her frying pan. It's very useful in situations like these. "I don't recall even _considering_ giving you a key, Weillschmidt."

"_Duh_, it's not my key." The Prussian grinned in that way that antagonists do when they are about to explain their plan. "It's all a part of my super master awesome plan, see—"

The Hungarian woman rolled her brown eyes. "You _always_ have a super master awesome plan," she said, and it felt like déjà-vu, in a way. "But they _always_ fail, so why do you keep making them? Idiot."

"Hey, shut _up_." Gilbert continued, even though there was a purplish bruise beginning to form on the side of his face where he was brutally damaged by a frying pan that was made in China. "Okay, so my _super master awesome plan_ was just that—super master awesome. First, I set up Roderich in an on-campus concerto in the Amadeus auditorium. It was easy, that part." He smirked evilly, tapping his chin. "Then, I got West some tickets to that concerto, and then made a few suggestions about how he should take his boyfriend to it because blah blah _get laid_ blah."

"You scared the living _hell_ out of Ludwig with that!" Elizaveta interrupted, frowning. "He had no idea what to do after you acted…_nice_ to him."

"I don't know why, since I'm the most awesome older brother _ever_." Gilbert nodded in agreement with himself, and he crossed his arms. "Okay, back to my plan! So, with those two gone, it left me with the perfect opportunity to occupy Roderich's vital regions!"

She really wished he would stop saying that. It sounds more inappropriate the more he said it.

"So, I snagged your keys—they said 'Elizaveta,' even though that isn't even your name—and came here. So, yeah, it totally worked."

Elizaveta blinked slowly. "…_Why_ are you here, once again?" she asked, gesticulating with one hand for him to get to the point.

"…" Gilbert was not so eager to answer that portion. "I, uh," he coughed into his fist, red eyes looking elsewhere inside her kitchen. "I…need a picture."

"You need a _what_?"

"A picture, Psycho!" Gilbert snapped, flushing. "Like, '_snap snap,' _hey_,_ my lens is broken because of your ugly!"

Elizaveta narrowed her eyes. "Were you trying to get one of me _naked_, you _pervert_?" she demanded. "Because you already have like nine thousand and one pictures of me anti-naked in your _Gilbo Gossip_ camera!"

"Apparently those pictures aren't good enough!" he retorted, straightening his posture so he could attempt to exert his height over the woman.

(It didn't work that well, because his younger brother was, like, inches taller and buffer, so he looked like a Labrador puppy in comparison to the German Sheppard that is Ludwig von Secret-Last-Name.)

"Not good enough?"

"You must love the sound of my voice, since I have to repeat _everything_ to you," Gilbert huffed, rolling his eyes. "I need a better picture, Psycho Hungarian Bitch. Every picture I have, you're scowling or looking all extra PMSy or just generally being a, well, your namesake. I need a better one." He looked down at the ground, hands stuck in his jean pockets.

"…" Elizaveta almost didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry Gilbert, but does my boyfriend know that his ex-boyfriend is gay for me?" She did say _almost_.

"I'm not _gay_ for you!" The Prussian sounded utterly appalled at the theory. "I just want a better picture, Geez!"

Gay. Gay. _Gay_. "Of course," the Hungarian woman replied, despite her inner mantra of homosexuality. "Do you have pictures of Roderich as well?"

"Uh, _duh_." Gay. Gay. Gay. _Gay_. "Why are you looking at me like you just had some sort of ESP revelation?" Oh, Roderich is going to get a prissy _kick_ out of this!

"Because you are gay for me," Elizaveta replied easily, smiling. "It all makes sense now!"

Gilbert's eyebrow ticked. "_What_?" he demanded. "I can't be gay for you—you're a _girl_! Well, a bitch, but the parts are all there."

"You can't be straight for me either—since this is just a really gay move!" She couldn't help it. The brown-haired woman laughed, bringing a hand to her face as she tried to hide her smile. She had never really smiled or laughed around Gilbert before, for certain reasons (hatred).

There was a flash of light, and the sound of a shutter. Elizaveta immediately looked up into Gilbert's victoriously evil smirk. He held his camera in his hands mockingly, pressing some buttons for some inane purpose.

"New headline," he said, his smirk widening. "'_Psycho Hungarian Bitch Laughs—The European Union Crumbles and Apocalypse Is On It's Way_.' Don't my lines just get sexier every time?" He cackled.

Elizaveta was frozen in horror at her moment of weakness in front of the man.

It was official.

Gilbert Weillschmidt must die.

**END**

* * *

I am loving this so hard. :D Even though I obviously can't do heterosexual without it being half-homo at the same time. Whatever, I still love the Austria/Hungary/Prussia OT3.

The history was rather hard to add, but here goes. :D Ludwig von Beethoven was a German composer and pianist, but he lived in Vienna for a good amount of his life. The Order of St. Maria was another name for the Teutonic Knights—also known as the conquerors of Europe for the Prussian Kingdom (which was a part of the German Empire at the time). The Prussian Kingdom was shut down like my electricity during thunderstorms by the Treaty of Versailles in 1918, reduced to a mere state, and _then_ that state was put down after World War II. The title is a reference to the _ownage_ that Prussia afflicted upon Europe, when they were able to proclaim themselves as a great power after defeating Austria-Hungary in 1762.

(writing Hetalia fics makes me wiser than all of my enemies, lemme tells ya)

The next one will _probably_ be Alfred/Arthur. I don't really know. :D I'm going to go write DGM nao.


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